The Wren and The Jay
by Cappoquin's Calling
Summary: Retired Army Colonel Laurence "Wren" Crown, a newcomer to Privet Drive, didn't believe all those hogwash rumors about the Potter boy. Harry had no clue what his new neighbor was doing when he renamed him Jay. Wren was determined to help Harry in any way that he could. With convict Sirius Black running loose, Harry may need all the protection he can get. AU Determined!HP R
1. Chapter 1

**Hi! Please read and review! The premise of this story, is me answering a question I had about Harry Potter. What if a strong muggle character made a lasting impression and difference on Harry, would anything be different?**

**Here is my attempt to answer this. Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter…who'd a thunk it?**

Former military Colonel Laurence "Wren" Crown frowned as he saw the Potter boy. It wasn't that he held a personal grudge against the child, but there was something off about him…a strange wariness that should not be present in a child of 13. Laurence was new to the neighborhood, and therefore had not truly believed the rumors about the boy. He hardly looked as though he were a miscreant, and his clothes proved nothing other than the fact that he wore hand me downs, most likely from his morbidly over weight cousin, Dudley Dursley. There was just something off…

Maybe it had to do with the fact that the Dursley family was fairly well off, and should therefore be able to provide the Potter boy with acceptable clothes, but they had clearly failed to do so. Or maybe it was the child's physique, which was reminiscent of a starved adolescent rather than the morbid obesity that was present in the Dursley men. With a hard and mean look to his face that was found only in those who had had far to little for far to long, the Potter boy was hardly of an appropriate weight for one of his age.

The fact of the matter was, that Laurence did not believe the Potter to be as trouble making as he was made out to be. In the months that he had known of the Potter child, Laurence had yet to see anything even reminiscent of his supposed behavior. As a firm believer in not judging before having all the facts, Laurence didn't care what preconceived notions he was supposed to have. Harry Potter, despite public opinion, was not a bad boy. He was wary, yes, and maybe he had reason to be.

Laurence hadn't appreciated Vernon Dursley mocking his house and the fact that his wife had left him (never mind the fact that his wife had died, not left him, as the whale had alluded to), and had also not appreciated Petunia Dursley sniffing down her nose at him and his messy lawn (he didn't know why, it wasn't as if she had spent a day in her own lawn, she just ordered her nephew about like a slave), and the wretched whelp, Dudley…

It was quite obvious to Laurence that the people on this street were judging the wrong member(s) of the Dursley/Potter family. The boy, whom he only knew as "Potter" had mown his lawn without having been asked or prompted to, had helped him bring his groceries in, with a quiet, but congenial enough air. It was by far, more pleasant than any of his encounters with the Dursley's had been. At 79, Laurence had put up with more than enough bull shit than he truly wanted to, and the treatment of Potter was just the icing on the cake. What did he care if he was considered a crotchety old man by the rest of the neighborhood? If Potter had had half the life he suspected him to have had, Laurence would gladly become the second pariah of Privet Drive to give Potter even a fraction of the happiness a child should have. Laurence would know. His alcoholic father, Harold, had been abusive and unpleasant all around, and no one had stepped up for him. So Laurence would do what he wished some one had done for him. He would be there for Potter.

\(*^*)/

"Oi! Potter!"

Harry looked up in surprise. It was the new man on the street, Mr. Crown. He was a tall man, stooped slightly with age, his hair steel gray with silver mixed liberally throughout, and his eyes were a piercing hazel, only slightly clouded with age. He had a gruff exterior, from what Harry had seen, and a lonely and wonderful personality hidden beneath (Harry had seen him picking up an injured bird, and weeks later, he had seen Mr. Crown release the very same bird back into the wild, with a wistful smile upon his face.)

"Yes, Mr. Crown?"

"What's your name?"

"My name?" 'What? Was someone actually trying to get to know him?' thought Harry, incredulous at the thought.

"Yes, your name, boy. What is it?"

"…Harry, sir."

A strange look was in Mr. Crown's eyes when he said the following.

"Short for Harold, I'd expect?"

"Uh, yes…"

"Got a middle name, do you?"  
This was getting stranger by the minute…

"James, sir…"

"I'll be calling you, Jay, then."

"Wait, what?"

"Deaf as well, then? I'll be calling you Jay, from here on out."

"…Why?"

"Nasty drunkard of a father was named Harold…nothing against your name, just the name brings about several unpleasant memories that I'd rather forget. James is far to formal, in my opinion, but still a good strong name. I'd give you another reason to call you Jay, but in truth, old age has made me slightly lazy."

Harry couldn't help but stare at the old man. Was Mr. Crown being serious? As far as Harry could tell, he was. "Jay?" he asked, just to be sure.

"Yes, Jay, I'm calling you Jay."

"…alright, then."

"My name's Laurence Crown, as I suspect you know. Call me Wren."

"Wren?"

"Yes, Jay, Wren. You might want to want to get your hearing checked out, the way you keep needed me to repeat everything, by the way."

As Harry spluttered, Wren hid a smile behind his hand while he cleared his throat.

"Well, then. Jay, you best not be telling the turds that you have the unfortunate luck to call relatives about this. I would think they wouldn't appreciate you talking to me, what with your miscreant ways, and all that." Wren smiled openly now.

"My doors always open for tea and sandwiches, if you'd like. By the by, I'm not some creepy old man (or so I'd like to think)…I'm just a wee bit lonely. You understand, right?"

Harry didn't really know how to feel. The one thing he'd wished for around here was coming true. A friendly face was in the neighborhood, other than Ms. Fig, who with her multitude of cats and cabbage smelling house was more than a little bit creepy and annoying. Wren…was an amazing discovery on this normally dismal part of his year. Away from school and friends, this crotchety old man probably didn't understand the full depth of what he was offering…or maybe he did?

"Jay. Don't think to hard. You don't have to analyze everything that happens. Good things do happen occasionally, rare though they may be. " a gruff cough punctuated Wren's sentence, and a bit of red on Wren's cheeks signified his embarrassment at actually coming close to talking about emotions. "Just go with the flow, and remember that even if it's a decrepit old man, you can always talk to some one."

"Well…must get going, lots to do, and all that…have a good day, Jay."

With that, Wren took off, leaning heavily on his crutch, whistling a happy tune.

"You, too…Wren…" whispered Harry, bemusedly. "Did that actually happen, or was it all a hallucination from working out side all day?"

"Ah well…guess I'll see."

A small smile was on Harry's face through the rest of the day, even when Petunia yelled at him for not completing all of his chores before sunset.

'I could be Jay', decided Harry, 'I could be some one new…'

The thought was tantalizing. No expectations, perhaps some tea and food, and best of all…company of someone with absolutely no ulterior motives. It sounded perfect.

"What do you think, Hedwig? Could I be Jay?"

Hedwig looked at him imperiously, hooting in what he perceived as affirmation. Mr. Crown, no, Wren, was maybe the instigator of a new feeling in Harry, one that he had not felt on Privet Drive ever before. It was acceptance. And it felt good.

Maybe he couldn't do magic until he went back to Hogwarts, but for the first time since the school year ended, Harry felt Happy.

\(*^*)/

**Thank you for reading! This is my first Harry Potter story, and I would greatly appreciate constructive responses towards my story. **

**Thanks, **

**Quinn.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Hey! Thanks to dmn410, and to Ajb2 for reviewing :)**

**Thanks to those who favorite/alerted The Wren and The Jay!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter…**

**\(*^*)/**

"Escaped convict and mass murderer, Sirius Black, is still at large three weeks after his prison escape. The Public is warned to use caution if they see him, as Black is a very dangerous criminal. Thank you, now onto weather with Debbie!"

Wren tuned out the weather reporter as he mulled over the information that had been presented. While admittedly there was very little to go on, Wren was intrigued. The lack of information told him just as much, if not more, than what the scant information did. Black was on the run, yes, but from which prison had he escaped? If he was such a dangerous criminal, why was it with such laxness and calm that the police were approaching the case? From what Wren could discern, there was something else going on.

Through out his 79 years, Wren had seen many things. He had also experienced things that would have driven a lesser man insane, or a feeble mess. But Wren could remember the days when he'd see something from the corner of his eye that just didn't fit with the rest of the world. But he kept quiet, remembering from his days in the military that bringing attention to small things was often enough to get you noticed. And attention was not something Wren relished in…not after what had happened some 50 odd years ago. 50 years ago he'd been in the thick of the fight and his "heroics" had brought him to a place of attention. And that attention, as well as his ability to speak fluent German (his grandmother, bless her soul, had been from Germany) had landed him as a spy behind enemy lines.

Time had passed, and Wren with his army compensation was living somewhat comfortably in a pretentious neighborhood that he hated. But the strange things he saw…flashes of light, appearing objects, and disappearing people! Wren knew without a doubt that he had seen something that he wasn't supposed to. And that was never a desirable position.

Grabbing his walking stick, Wren put Sirius Black, and flashing lights out of his mind. It was time to visit Jay.

\(*^*)/

"Jay, lad, you'll need a better bed than that."

Harry jerked, his head hitting the opened shutter above his head. The Dursley's had gone and left, "forgetting" that he was not in the house when they locked him out.

"Shit!"

"Language, Lad!"

"S-sorry?"

"Just kidding with you…I can curse like the best of them. I've no room to talk."

"Really…no lectures?"

"Do I look like I could stomach a lecture, let alone give one?"

"Well…"

"Gah! Never grow old, Jay. You get a distinguished, no nonsense aura, and everybody starts taking you seriously all of the sudden…its no fun anymore."

Harry stared at the man.

"I'll take that into consideration…"

"Good. Now lets go!"

"Go? Go where?"

"On a walk."

"A walk?"  
"Yes."

Alrighty then…

\(*^*)/

Harry didn't really get why Wren had taken such an interest in him, or why Wren hadn't believed all of the rumors that the Dursley's had spread. Harry decided that he didn't care.

He was eating an ice cream cone, and walking through a park with Wren who was leaning heavily on his cane, but carrying on as though it were nothing.

He was enjoying himself.

"Jay…you ever seen a Wren?"  
"I've seen you…" stated Harry, dubiously.

"A wren is a bird… any way…its small and inconspicuous, but an old German legend tells it that the Wren hid in the feathers of and eagle, and flew higher than any other bird. In old German, the Wren is called Kuningilin, which means Kinglet. It's not really much to look at, but its got a voice you wouldn't believe!"

The enthused look that appeared on Wren's face made him seem almost child like in his wonder at the thought of such a small bird making it higher than the noble eagle. Harry couldn't help but smile.

"What about a Jay, I mean, that's a bird, right?"

"A Jay is this beautiful bird, blue as the sky, and completely reckless." Harry's cheeks flushed ever so slightly. "It chatters incessantly, and does what it has to survive. They can be quite the terror, you know, but there's something about them that I just like." With that, Wren winked at Harry.

"Jay. This may sounds strange to you, but do you want to learn something new? Something useful?"

"…Yes?"

It was more of a question than an answer, but it was still and affirmation.

Wren grinned in a somewhat alarming manner, making Harry wonder what he had just agreed to.

\(*^*)/

"Paintball?"

"Run and cover, Jay. Also, duck and weave. People prefer a stationary target, rather than a moving one. That just makes it more difficult for your enemy." Wren was decidedly cheerful, paintball gun in hand.

"Ready?"  
"N-"

"Yes? Excellent. Begin!"

Bang! Bang! Bang!

"Agh! My toe!"

"Run, Jay, Run!"

"Damn you, Wren!"

\(*^*)/

"Did you have fun?"

Harry stared at Wren. Was he actually asking that? Admittedly, it had been fun once he got going. He could already tell that while he had good reflexes, he had some work to do. Harry was already planning ahead to see how he could incorporate this in quidditch…bludgers. Bludgers…dodging practices…good lord, Oliver Wood would love this…

"…a little…"

"Only a little? Hmph. I would have loved to be able to run half as well as I used to be able to, because then I would have taken off after you."

"You'd wear yourself out to quickly, old man." Harry looked slightly shocked at his own impertinence, and a scared look crept into his eyes.

"I'm not old! I'm not! I'm just…produced a certain amount of time in the past…"

The look left Harry's eyes, replaced by good humor and laughter.

"That's just another way of saying old, Wren!"

"Ah, give a guy a rest would you? I'm young at heart, that counts, right?"

"Sure…"

"Cheeky, Jay, very cheeky."

\(*^*)/

Wren smiled as he sat in his armchair, his one leg stiff and protesting while he took off the prosthetic that had replaced his old leg.

"He's a good lad, Jay is…" said Wren to his big and empty house.

Just as he was about to doze off, Wren heard a strange scratching noise at his front door. He contemplated just ignoring it, but it continued.

With a sigh, Wren grabbed his cane and semi hopped, semi walked the short distance to his front door.

"What is it! Can you not wait until the fu- Oh."

A starving, mangy dog was looking up at him pitifully, puppy dog eyes on in full power. "Damn my bleeding heart… oh alright. Come in, dog."

The big black thing thumped his ratty tail and jumped right in the house.

"First things first. I'm recruiting Jay to give you a bath in the morning-don't you go looking at me like that! Do you like those fleas? Fleas. Shit. Back yard, now! NOW!"

\(*^*)/

**Hope you enjoyed! **

**Read and review!**

**Quinn**

**P.S. Here's a riddle:**

**A woman walks into a bar and asks the bartender for a glass of water. The bartender takes out a gun and points it directly at her head. She thanks him, and leaves.**

**Why did she thank him?**

**Answer will be in the next chapter. **


	3. Chapter 3

**Edited: 8/23/12**

**So, I didn't actually think that people would get the riddle. It took me an hour. I feel insecure. Anyways, Onwards!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.**

**P.S. Since this update took so long, I've made it longer**

**\(*^*)/**

Wren stared at the dog.

The dog stared back.

"You're going to the groomers, and that's final, dog."

The dog gazed up at him, his eyes taking on a deceptive sheen and a pitiful expression.

"If you aren't careful, I may tell the groomer that you like pink ribbons. And nail polish. Pink, nail polish."

With a betrayed look, the dog slinked over to Wren, allowing him to put the collar and leash on. It was nice, Wren decided, to have someone to rely on him, even if it was only a dog. 79 years wasn't a long time in the grand scheme of things, but it seemed an eternity when everyone he'd ever cared for was gone.

Of course, he had the dog now, and, hopefully, Harry.

Wren could tell that Harry was special, that there was something different about him. Harry, the scrawny looking lad that he was, was destined for something greater. What it was that the boy was destined for, Wren had no idea at all.

"Oi, you lump of fur, what should I call you? Can't keep saying 'dog', now, can I?" Course, asking a dog what it wished to be named wasn't the best way to get an answer, what with their inability to talk and all that.

"Sergeant, okay with you?"

Crazily enough, the dog actually seemed to consider it, before barking in what Wren decided to take as an agreement.

"Well, Sergeant, march!"

\(*^*)/

Wren was meandering down the aisles of the pet store while the newly named Sergeant was reluctantly bathed. He truly had little idea of what he needed to purchase for his new pet. Food, he knew, was a must, but the rest?

The collar and leash Wren had used were from thirty years ago, when Wren had had a Siberian Husky, named Ted. They were more mementos than anything else.

"Excuse me, Sir? Can I help you?" asked a pretty young sales girl.

"I've just gotten myself a dog, and haven't a clue what to get for him. It's been years since I last had a dog…"

"Did you choose a food? Depending on the size and breed of your dog, there are sooo many different types of kibble."

Did he hear that right?

"Kibble?"

"Yes, kibble, now is your dog small, medium, or large?"

"Large?"

"Okay! Here's one food for 60 pounds, another for 40, and here's one for 100! You really must love your dog to get that one!"

The girl was hyperactive, and an impressive sales person. By the time he was done ringing his purchases up, he was sure that he had been conned by the sweet looking girl who had helped him.

"Have a nice day, now!"

"You just want me for my money, don't you?"

"What ever are you talking about?" asked the girl, batting her eyes innocently, before moving on to her next victim.

"Oh, Miss, could you tell them to put some pink bows on my dog?" After spending that much money on the dog, he needed some form of revenge on the unsuspecting animal.

'Paybacks a bitch, Sergeant, especially when Payback had to spend over three hundred pound's for 'kibble' and toys.

\(*^*)/

Sergeant looked balefully up at Wren, his male pride damaged by the pink infestation on his coat.

"What are you looking at me for, I tried to talk the groomers out of it!" smirked Wren, as they slowly made their way home.

Sergeant snorted and stuck his nose in the air, as if sniffing out the lie.

Wren only laughed, before sucking in a breath as a spasm of pain jolted through him. It made him stand still, rigid with pain, for over a minute. When the pain finally stopped, Wren sighed with relief and began walking again, even more slowly than before. Sergeant looked up at him, worriedly.

"Ah, don't give me that look. That wasn't anything. Just me getting old." Wren wondered whom he was trying to convince, himself or the dog?

Wren had never been happier to see the bland houses of Privet Drive than now. He just needed a little rest, and he'd be good as new.

\(*^*)/

"Jay, my lad! How are you on this fine day?"

Harry looked askance at Wren, and then to the sky, which had turned a dark grayish purple.

"Fine. You?"

"Just dandy. How about you come over to my house for a cuppa?"

Harry didn't have it in him to resist. The sky's were promising rain, and the Dursley's were out visiting Marge, once again locking him outside.

"Alright."

"Good, lad. Black tea alright with you?"

"That's fine."

The two entered into Wrens house, which on the outside, appeared to be just as generic as any other house on Privet Drive. The inside, however, was something completely different. The walls were painted in dark, bold colors and covered in the memorabilia Wren had collected through his life. There were black and white photo's, paintings, masks, decorative swords, and all manner of other things. One picture in particular caught Harry's attention.

It was a black and white photo of a young man who was smiling as wide as could be, and looking as though a pile of gold had been dropped on his lap. He looked to be about 16 in the picture.

"Wren, who's that?"

"Eh, that's me."

"Really?"

"Yes, really…why, cant imagine me as anything but crusty?"

"…"

"This is when you're supposed to say, 'Of course not, Wren, why, I can't ever imagine you as old!'"

Harry snorted quietly. That in and of itself was true. It was hard to imagine that Wren was, in fact, old. The man was just too lively, to young spirited, that it was impossible to imagine him as a generic old man living alone.

"Ah, Jay, there's someone that I'd like you to meet!" exclaimed Wren, excitedly. "Oi! Sergeant, get your mangy butt in here!"

To Harry's surprise, it wasn't a man who came to them, but a humongous black dog. The dog would have been menacing if not for the hot pink bow attached on the crown of its head, which made Harry giggle (though he would forever call it a manly laugh).

"This mutt here made itself at home with me. He's a big old softy if you give him a treat or two. Now, go sit in the sitting room, and I'll bring the tea."

Harry took his dirt-encrusted trainers off before walking into the sitting room, and taking a seat on what had to be the most comfortable sofa in the world. He sank into it slightly, feeling as though he were in a cloud.

A pitiful whine made him look to Sergeant. The dog was really quite big, but his eyes just made him look like an oversized plush toy that was to be cuddled with. Harry smiled softly, and began to pet the dog, scratching under its chin and on its chest.

"I see that the mutt is already taking advantage of you."

Harry turned to see Wren looking fondly at the two of them, his expression belying his words.

As he ate the sandwich that Wren had given him, and drank his tea, Harry pondered something.

"Wren, did you ever have family?"

As soon as he asked it, Harry regretted it.

Wren's eyes gained a sad gleam and his shoulders slumped slightly. "Aye. I had a wife, once. Her name was Emma. She was wonderful…cheekiest woman that there ever was, and the most beautiful lady you'd ever seen. She died a few years back, from cancer."

"I'm sorry! I did-"

Wren cut him off, "Jay, you didn't know. Don't apologize for things that aren't your fault, ever, you hear me?"

Harry nodded, still feeling guilty.

"None of that, now. Eat your sandwich."

Harry took a bite and chanced a glance at Wren. The elder man was looking slightly off into space, deep in thought.

"Wren?"

"Hm?" "Do you want to go to the paintball range soon?"

A devious smile made its way onto Wrens face, making Harry wonder what in the hell he'd just done.

"Yes, Jay, I do believe we should!" Wren was cheerful again, but the look on his face made Harry ever so slightly afraid.

A strike of lightning, followed by a crack of thunder signified the rain's arrival, and Harry shivered at the thought of having to go back outside. The Dursley's wouldn't be home for hours, but he didn't want to impose on Wren's generous nature any more than he should.

"Jay, I'm ordering you to stay here until your relatives return and open the house. Negotiations are to be ignored. Eat, and drink your tea, alright?"

Harry smiled, and nodded as Wren sneakily fed Sergeant his crusts when he thought Jay wasn't looking.

\(*^*)/

Jay had ended up staying at Wren's house for over four hours that night before the Dursley's had gotten home. Wren had entertained him with war stories and dramatic reenactments, complete with fake death scenes. Wren wasn't sure who'd enjoyed it more, Jay, or him?

"Jay, would you mind looking after Sarge for me, just for a little while? I have to run a few errands, and I don't want him to get lonely."

"Sure, Wren, I mean, I wouldn't dare to dream of letting Sergeant get lonely, now would I?" asked Harry, cheekily.

"Away with you, brat!" chuckled Wren, fondly. "I'll be off, then."

"Have a good day, old man!"

"You too, brat!"

Wren had called a cab to take him to his doctor's office. After Jay had left the day before, Wren had had another pain attack, but this one had lasted almost ten minutes.

Paying the driver, Wren made his way slowly up the stairs of the physicians office, cursing under his breath at the people who'd decided such steep steps were a good idea at a doctor's office. Stepping inside, Wren was greeted with the sterile smell that was always found in Doctors offices. It made Wren want to cringe. He hated doctor's offices with a passion, ever since his amputation, and Emma's death.

"Laurence Crown, to see Dr. Stevens, at 10 o'clock." Stated Wren to the admitting nurse.

"Alright, Mr. Crown. You'll be seen to in just a few minutes."

Wren grumbled and went to find a seat. Half an hour later, his name was finally called.

"Larry Crown!" "Larry? Who gave them the idea of calling me Larry!" spat out Wren.

"Hi, Larry, I'm Nurse Day-"

"My name is Wren, not Larry."

"…alright, Wren, I'm just going to take your blood pressure, and a few other things. It say's here," she indicated her file, "that you've experienced increasing bursts of pain, for the last year or so, is that correct?"

"Yes."

"Can I ask why you didn't seek medical attention for this before now?"

"Thought it was just a part of getting old, you know. You don't get a handbook when you retire."

"Okay, then. On a level of 1-10, what is the intensity of the pain?"

"…7."

"Ok, Dr. Stevens will be in, in just a few minutes. There are magazines over there, if you want." Said Nurse Day, pointing at a magazine rack, before she left the room, humming.

Another half an hour later and Dr. Stevens finally showed up.

"Mr. Crown, we're going to have to do some tests."

Any irritation Wren was feeling was replaced with déjà vu. That was exactly what Emma's doctor had said to her.

Shit.

\(*^*)/

Wren slowly opened his door, his hand shaking with repressed emotions. He had just gotten Sergeant back from Harry, and after having had to put on a happy face for the boy, Wren felt ready to break.

Carefully, Wren maneuvered himself onto his couch, taking his prosthetic off and laying on his side. Wren started to cry, silently.

It wasn't that he was scared, no, not that at all. It was just that after Emma had died, he had felt as though a part of him had died as well. He had felt angry that she had left him behind, and all he had wanted to do was just to hold her, and talk to her. But she had slipped away, cancer winning the battle after six long years of victories and defeats. And Wren had been completely alone.

That had been thirty-three years, seven months, and however many days ago.

But now, just when he had found someone to care about again, there was the possibility that he would have to put Jay through what he'd gone through. Wren didn't think that it would be fair of him to get close to Jay, only to have to leave him, but Wren also knew that it would be unfair to just stay away from Jay. It was a dilemma that Wren dearly wished he did not have.

Wren felt as though he were sucked deep into a void, stuck in silence, and unable to move. He could already feel depression crashing down on him, making him think of the worst possible outcomes.

Sergeant walked over and sat down in front of his face, whining softly, and nuzzling Wrens hand as though to reassure him.

"That's, that's right…I, I won't get those damn tests back, not for weeks!" said Wren, through his tears, his breath shuddering in his chest as he tried his best to stop crying.

\(*^*)/

**So, tell me what you think of this chapter, please.**

**I feel really bad for putting Wren through this, but it'll all work out in the end for the plot. And next chapter will have a return to the paint ball range, and some more Jay and Wren interaction. Sorry about the lack of it in this chapter.**

**And to those who guessed the riddle! Bravo! He cured her hiccups.**

**Here's a new one:**

**On a Friday afternoon, two women go to the local bar for happy hour after a long week at work. The women order identical drinks. 45 minutes later, one of the women falls off of her bar stool, dead. How did one woman survive, while the other did not?**

**~Quinn**

1. Chapter 12. Chapter 23. Chapter 3


	4. Chapter 4

**Hi…**

**I have no excuse. Except for being in Ireland for a week. Which does not account for the period of delay between updates…sorry. And thank you to those who reviewed and told me that the Euro hadn't been introduced yet hehe…**

**Disclaimer : I do not own.**

**\(*^*)/**

…**(…..)**

…**.o…o..**

"Run, boy! Run!"

"I'm running! How about you join me?!"

"Nah, this is more fun!"  
"Fun for you!"

"Of course!"

"SO NOT FUN, WREN!"

"Run faster, then! Not my fault you're a slow little git!"

"You're shooting me in the feet! I'm going as fast as I can!"

"Chicken! A one legged man could run faster than you!"

"Why don't we test that! I'll take the gun, you take the run!"

"No can do, Sonny!"

"AGH!"

"Run faster!"

"Shut UP!"

"NEVER! HAHAHA!"

\(*^*)/

"I hate you, you know that right?"

"Uhuh. Remember, you volunteered."

"I regretted it the moment I did it."

"You had fun, admit it."

"…"

"Come on, Jay, make an old mans day!"

"Fine…I had fun. Thanks, Wren."

*Woof*

"Sorry, Sarge, the Paintball range doesn't let mutt's in."

Wren and Harry sat in his back yard drinking lemonade and eating cookies. They had just gotten back from the paintball range, and Wren was trying to ease his leg into a more comfortable position. He eyed Harry before clearing his throat awkwardly.

"Jay, you wouldn't mind if I took this damn leg off, would you?"

"Sure, I guess."

"Ah, that's much better."

Harry stared, unable to help himself. He was fighting an internal battle against his curiosity, and his innate British politeness.

"Spit it out, lad."

"Wah?"

"What ever question you got that's making you look constipated."

After spluttering for a moment or two, Harry cleared his throat an swallowed heavily.

"How, how did you lose your leg?"

"Hmm… Years ago, when World War II began, I was a Captain in army, and fluent in German. I caught the attention of the lads over at MI6." Here, Wren gave a small self-deprecating smile.

"They needed a guy behind enemy lines, you see. So I was trained, and sent off to Germany with a whole new background and mission. I infiltrated the ranks and was soon able to get sensitive information. Towards the end of the war, though, I got myself caught. It was a damn stupid thing that I was caught over. I was singing to myself in perfect English, no hint of a German accent at all. Long story short, I was tortured, and by the time I was found, my leg was rotting due to gangrene. Pleasant story, isn't it?" asked Wren, with a rueful smile.

"Verily…"

Harry was caught up in the story, imagining Wren as a young man, imagining him being sent off alone, imagining him being tortured…it was incredible what Wren had gone through.

"Jay, be a good lad, and go get the Sarge over there a treat?"

"Sure, Wren."

Sergeant nudged Wren's hand, a pitiful look on his face.

"Oh, alright, you blasted dog." Wren smiled slightly, emphasizing the crags and crevices in his face from years of laughter and mischief, and started petting the dog's head.

"Wren! Where do you keep the doggy biscuits?" yelled Harry from inside.

"In the tin next to the stove!"

"Okay!"

"Here you go, Sarge!" the dog sprang up, practically bounding over to Harry.

"Oi! You like him better than me, is that it?" snarked Wren.

"We'll just ignore the cranky old man, won't we, Sarge?

"Oi!"

"I think I heard a particularly loud fly buzzing around…hmm…"

"Brat…"

"There it is again!"

"Hmph."

\(*^*)/

"Mr. Crown?"

"Aye, coming."

"How are you feeling?" asked Nurse Day.

"Old."

"We just got your results back today. If you'll give me a moment, I'll have Dr. Moore come and explain everything to you."

"Hmph."

"Alright then, I'll be right back."

Like he was going to believe that. No doctor or nurse ever came right back. No Sirree, they let you wait in those horrid hospital gowns, just waiting for the door to open and relieve you from your boredom.

*Half an Hour Later*

"Hi, Larry! Can I call you Larry?"

Wren stared at the man before him. He was tall, with blonde hair and blue eyes, and American.

"No. My. Name. Is. Wren. Who. The. Fuck. Came. Up. With. Larry?!"

"The world, Wren. The world did."

"Uhuh. So what's wrong with me, Doc?"

"Besides your sunny personality?" Dr. Moore smiled to show he didn't mean anything serious. The smile left quickly though, leaving behind a serious expression that caused dread to build up in Wren.

"Wren, I'm sorry to tell you…"

It was like white noise. He heard it, but he couldn't compute it. He shook the Doctor's hand, took the treatment pamphlets, and got dressed. He shakily stood up, leaning heavily on his cane. It felt like the world was on fast forward and he was being left behind.

When he got home, he made a cup of tea.

Sarge whined and put his head on Wren's lap, trying to get his attention. But Wren couldn't shake out of it, not even when he started coughing in such a way that he felt like his lungs were going to make an appearance.

Sarge whimpered and took off, somehow opening the door, and raced off to find help. Harry help.

"Wren?"

"Wren, please answer me? What's wrong? What –"

Harry stopped mid sentence, eyes wide as he stared at the pamphlets in front of Wren.

"Cancer?"

His voice cracked on the word.

"Seems like it. Malignant Melanoma, is what it's called. Skin Cancer."

"Bloody Hell."

"Yeah."

|*^*)/

**SO…I hope you liked it.**

**No one got the riddle last time. The answer was that there was poison in the ice cubes. One lady drank her drink before the ice melted, and the other didn't.**

**Here's another one:**

**A woman is found in the middle of the desert with no clothes. She's dead. Her clothes were found fifty miles away. She was found holding a piece of straw in her hand. How did she get there, and why?**

**~Quinn.**


End file.
